ll. You are giving me a chance--which I should be
glad of, except that it involves your suffering--to show my affection
for you, and my gratitude."

"There, dear," said the Cardinal to her, "you see the Signorino makes
nothing of that. Now the next thing. Go on."

"I have to ask the Signorino's forgiveness for my impertinence,"
whispered Marietta.

"Impertinence--?" faltered Peter. "You have never been impertinent."

"Scusi, Signorino," she went on, in her whisper. "I have sometimes
contradicted the Signorino. I contradicted the Signorino when he told
me that St. Anthony of Padua was born in Lisbon. It is impertinent of
a servant to contradict her master. And now his most high Eminence says
the Signorino was right. I beg the Signorino to forgive me."

Again the Cardinal smiled at Peter.

"You dear old woman," Peter half laughed, half sobbed, "how can you ask
me to forgive a mere difference of opinion? You--you dear old thing."

The Cardinal smiled, and patted Marietta's hand.

"The Signorino is too good," Marietta sighed.

"Go on, dear," said the Cardinal.

"I have been guilty of the deadly sin of evil speaking. I have spoken
evil of the Signorino," she went on. "I said--I said to people--that the
Signorino was simple--that he was simple and natural. I thought so
then. Now I know it is not so. I know it is only that the Signorino is
English."

Once more the Cardinal smiled at Peter.

Again Peter half laughed, half sobbed.

"Marietta! Of course I am simple and natural. At least, I try to be.
Come! Look up. Smile. Promise you will not worry about these things any
more."

She looked up, she smiled faintly.

"The Signorino is too good," she whispered.

After a little interval of silence, "Now, dear," said the Cardinal, "the
last thing of all."

Marietta gave a groan, turning her head from side to side on her pillow.

"You need not be afraid," said the Cardinal. "Mr. Marchdale will
certainly forgive you."

"Oh-h-h," groaned Marietta. She stared at the ceiling for an instant.

The Cardinal patted her hand. "Courage, courage," he said.

"Oh--Signorino mio," she groaned again, "this you never can forgive me.
It is about the little pig, the porcellino. The Signorino remembers the
little pig, which he called Francesco?"

"Yes," answered Peter.

"The Signorino told me to take the little pig away, to find a home for
him. And I told the Signorino that I would take him to my nephew, who is
a farmer, towa